The Show Must Go On
by mandaree1
Summary: Scrooge spends the anniversary of the third month since Lena moved in on a boat. Meanwhile, Lena Le Strange takes the stage, wearing his hat and swinging around his cane.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Ducktales!**

 **Title: The Show Must go On**

 **Summary: Scrooge spends the anniversary of the third month since Lena moved in on a boat. Meanwhile, Lena Le Strange takes the stage, wearing his hat and swinging around his cane.**

 **...**

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The quiet sound was like a shout, and the ducklings flinched at every one. Scrooge's glare could melt the thickest iceberg as he stared dejectedly at his empty plate, tapping his tune of doom out on the wooden arm of his chair.

"Huey," he said flatly. "How long has the De Spell girl been livin' with us?"

"Three months, Uncle Scrooge," Huey recited faithfully, swallowing around a nervous clog in his throat.

"Webby," Scrooge went on. "How many times has the De Spell girl come down fer dinner these past three months?"

Webby tapped her index fingers together. "Three times, Mr. McDuck."

"Once a month, then."

"Yes, sir."

"I hardly see how that makes 'er family, do yew?"

"Uncle Scrooge," Donald scolded from his end of the table, brow furrowed. "Lena's just as much a part of this family as the rest of us."

Scrooge slammed his fist down, making them all jump. "SO WHY DID SHE THINK IT WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA TO NICK ME HAT AND CANE, EH?"

"Are we sure it was Lena?" Dewey pressed. "I still think Louie sold them on Ebay."

Louie gave him a dirty look. "I don't intend to die anytime soon, Dewford."

The old duck stood up with a sudden certainty. "I'm gonna go give 'er a piece'a my mind."

"Aw, come'on, Mr. McDuck!" Webby cried, but didn't stand and follow him, as if afraid he'd turn on her next. "It's her three month anniversary. She probably just got really excited."

"Harrumph," he growled, slamming the door behind him. Scrooge grumbled complaints to himself as he made his way down the hall to the main staircase. If he'd known just how much havoc one teenage witch could bring down on his house, he might not have allowed her to stay in the first place. It certainly wasn't like she offered her services on adventures in return for it. How many times now would a potion been of good use to him? Too many to count, that's for sure.

"Mr. McDuck," a stern voice said, stopping him in his tracks. Scrooge turned to see Beakley eyeing him, her hands on her hips. "Dinner is ready, sir. I suggest you eat while it's still hot."

Scrooge pointed up the stairs. "That little monster of yers stole me hat and cane. I'm goin' up there."

"I'd advise against it, sir. She has a tendency to throw things if you try and lecture her in her room. It's best to catch her in the hallways."

"Are yew condoning a temper tantrum, Beakley?"

"I'm merely _stating_ that Lena has had a rough childhood, and it's best not to make her feel _backed into a corner_ when delivering the riot act." The housekeeper crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. "The usual tactics don't work on Lena, sir. It only makes her fight harder."

"We'll see about that," Scrooge snapped, then went on up the stairs without another word. Beakley didn't follow him.

Lena lived in the top of the house, in one of the cleared-out sections of attic. It was her own preference- Scrooge had offered her a host of other rooms, in spite of his distrust of the De Spell teen, but she'd insisted, claiming an aesthetic appeal. Scrooge still wasn't entirely sure what that meant. When he pushed up the entry, he found it barren of Lena, but filled with magical doohickeys. Pots and pans for cooking potions, bottles of various ingredients, a couple of artifacts; all of which had been gifted to her by a certain Webby Vanderquack, eager to help her fill up the shelves.

In the middle sat a blue carpet, slightly rough to the webbed feet, that Lena slept on. She had a bed- two feet to the left, with a huge and fluffy blanket- but Lena had always been reluctant to use it for whatever reason. Now it held various old tomes that Webby couldn't fit in her already large archives. Rock posters were slung haphazardly across the walls, lava lamp propped up on the bedside table. Vials of liquids glowed, casting it all in a muted rainbow glow.

Scrooge hardly noticed any of this as he took an obligatory once-over of the domain, scowl so deep it almost dipped off his beak. "O'course she snuck out. Can't never be that easy."

Thankfully, it didn't take long for him to find a card, stuck under the aforementioned fluffy blanket of her unused bed, that served as a pretty big clue to her whereabouts. Scrooge squints at it, baffled by the words typed hastily onto the plain white paper, folded and stuck into a lavender envelope.

He read it aloud, as if that would somehow make it easier: "'You're on fer the party tonight. Boat kicks off at nine. #IHaveNoIdeaHowToUseAPrinter. #PurpleIsTheBestColor. #LiveForThatDrama.'" Scrooge tilted his head slightly to the side. "What in blazes is that s'pposed to mean?"

* * *

"Le Strange!" Mark Beaks cried, as if Lena was an old friend. The teenager had just boarded the luxury ship, and jolted to attention as he neared. "Glad to see you could make it! I've heard plenty of stories about you."

Lena did what she thought was right and plucked the top hat off her head to curtsy. "All bad, I hope."

The parrot appraised her attire with a critical eye. It wasn't like Lena had oodles of cash on hand, so she'd been forced to scavenge; namely, the tuxedo t-shirt from Donald's dresser, and the top hat and cane of one Scrooge McDuck. The way Lena saw it, the two ducks should be thanking her for going this far.

"I like it!" he decided. "Very 'I don't care' with a hint of 'I actually care a lot'. Like a magical delinquent-with-a-heart-of-gold." Mark hovered a hand near her shoulder, close to show he was showing affection but not enough so to be touching. "Walk with me, Le Strange."

Lena Le Strange. It's not an original name, but it's done wonders for her over the years. It's also a killer stage name.

"Ma Beagle ended up calling in sick," he explained as they rounded the corner, ducking past some Sixth Avenue Frendlies. "Got hit with the flu bug. So her pups are under _moi's_ power for the night."

"That's probably for the best," Lena told him, "seeing how they all want a piece of me."

"Oh. Right. I almost forgot." Mark tapped the nearest Beagle Boy on the shoulder. "Hey, you. Y'see Le Strange here? No tussling, you dig?"

The Glam Yankee growled at her. "She's the reason I didn't get a birthday this year!"

"No! Bad dog!" Mark scolded, bapping his nose. "Tonight, she's our entertainment. Spread the word, pooch. She's officially off-limits." The parrot gave a little bounce as the Beagle Boy reluctantly shuffled away. "Ahhh, this feels so _good_! I tell ya', I've been looking forward to rubbing elbows with fellow evildoers for some time now. Well. Not _literally_ rubbing elbows. That's gross. But you know what I mean."

"It's an honor to be here, sir," Lena said, hands behind her back. "I can't wait to see what kind of trouble I can cause."

* * *

Mark might call it a yacht, Scrooge thought dully, but it's really just a fancy tugboat. A quick look around had revealed that it held various members of the Beagle Boy family, and that was about it. Not surprising. Glomgold would rush to have a party of his own once he heard about Mark's, and _his_ would be flashier and bigger, if only to rub it in the parrot's face later.

The water was as black as oil, and the sky above twinkled with billions of stars. The salty sea air struck Scrooge with a sense of nostalgia- though, for what, or who, he wasn't entirely sure. There were pitifully few lights on the boat, presumably to keep detection down, so the old duck simply slunk close to the walls or rails and he got past scott-free.

Until he ran beak-first into Bouncer Beagle, but even then he's not in any trouble, the large dog grabbing his shoulder and steering him away. He touches fabric rather than feathers, and doesn't notice the difference. "Where d'ya think yer going, man? The show's about to start!"

Scrooge found himself at the rear of the boat, where some sets of dinner tables sat the herd of small fry villains. The old duck picked the corner furthest from light and settled in, ordering a glass of water with a fake, deeper-pitched voice. He wondered if there was any destination involved, or if they were just circling the bay.

Front and center sat a wood stage, light up with the brightest lights on the outside of the ship. With a puff of smoke Lena appeared, taking a preemptive bow. "Thank you, thank you! Wow, no cheers at all?" A single Beagle Boy coughed. Lena whistled. "Tough crowd, huh? My specialty."

Scrooge's eyebrows rose.

Lena leaned on _his_ cane, examining the gathered group. "Well, I'm Lena Le Strange, and I'm here to try and amaze ya'll. But, first thing's first- since I'm pretty sure he'd toss me overboard if I didn't- let's have a cheer for the bird of the hour: Mark Beaks!"

That got the applause she'd intended for. Mark stood and accepted it with glee, sending kisses out to the crowd. It was during this brief interval that the teenager hopped off-stage, hooking the cane around Burger Beagle's neck and pulling him closer. "Now, I know we've had bad blood in the past, but let's enjoy ourselves tonight! My garden-variety magic can be quite convincing, I'll have you all know."

Burger responded by attempted to deck her. Lena ducked with a shout, laughing as she climbed back to the safety of her stage. "Now, I'm sure ya'll've noticed my dress. I assure you, it was quite intentional. I figure there's no better way to make friends with a crowd than to remind you all of the duck you hate _much_ more than me." She held her hand up to the side of her head, the crook of Scrooge's cane around her wrist. "A round of boos for Scrooge McDuck, everybody!"

The round of boos went off without a hitch. Scrooge sunk lower in his seat with a sulking look on his face.

Lena cleared her throat. "Anyway, I'm sure you're all bored of just me running my beak. I come with more than just jokes!" The teenager turned her back to the crowd. There was a loud clicking noise. She turned back around with a pair of handcuffs around her wrists. "Why, even Scrooge himself couldn't get out of these babies! They're practically impenetrable."

"No, they ain't!" Bigtime called up petulantly. "Yer wearin' 'em!"

She glanced down, eyes wide. "Oh no! What have I done!" Lena stumbled around stage, trying in vain to pull herself free. "Help! I've trapped myself, and my wimpy bird arms can't free me!"

"Aw, fer pity's sake." Bouncer sighed, stiffly coming up the stage. He picked her up by said handcuffs- specifically, the chain connecting them. His face fell. "Wow. Normally, they snap like nothin'."

"I'm tellin' you, man," Lena said. "They're practically impenetrable."

"Look for a trick loop!" That was a Longboard Taquito.

"I'm looking!" he yelled, examining each loop carefully. "And there ain't one!"

Bouncer set her down, and in that moment Lena bit down on the very middle, snapping it instantly. " _Practically_ impenetrable," she repeated, mouth full, before spitting molten metal to the side. Someone shrieked as it ate at the floor, but she poured a glass of water on the stain and it was gone. "I've got plenty more where that came from!" Lena called with an awkward laugh, tossing the glass over her shoulder and into the water below.

Then she stopped, beak half-open, and Scrooge knew she'd finally taken notice of him.

* * *

"I hope you're happy," Lena grunted sourly as she carefully pulled the remains of her handcuffs off her wrists. "You almost blew the entire show, dufus."

Scrooge tried to look decently dignified as he sat on an upturned bucket, his hat and cane back where they belonged. "I'm never happy."

"And what are you even _doing_ here?" she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "This is a _villain_ party. Sponsored by a _villain_."

"I came after yew, De Spell. Yer in big trouble, jus' so you know."

"Whoop de doo." She straightened her shirt. "And don't call me that. Not here."

Scrooge was baffled. "What fer? They know yew can do magic."

Lena held up a finger. "They know I can pull off a fancy magic _trick_. That's all they _need_ to know."

Fed up with it all, he stood and grabbed her wrist. "Let's go. I saw an emergency boat. We can take 'er back to shore."

She jerked away. "I can't cut out now! They'll know something is up."

"Yew don't belong here."

"Are you sure about that?" Lena challenged, a single dark eye burning into him as she turned away slightly. "Because you certainly don't _look_ sure."

Scrooge didn't respond.

"Hey, Le Strange?" Mark started, opening the door to her prep room. "I just wanted to say you did killer tonight. Keep that up and I might just see about finding you a spot at Waddle- though, what I would do with some magician, I'm not suuuuuuu..." he paused, taking in the scene. "Well. Hello, McDuck."

"Beaks," Scrooge greeted.

Mark rubbed his temples. "Okay, okay, okay. Real talk. I _really_ wanna sound the alarm and try and catch you. Like. A lot. But I know darn well that there's nobody on this duckin' boat that could get you. Not to mention I'm planning on livestreaming your demise, and the lighting is terrible for a livestream tonight."

"Alright."

"So you can, like, go or whatever. Just don't touch the controls." He opened the door wider. "How about a cup of punch, Le Strange? On the house."

"You're too kind, Mr. Beaks." Lena shot Scrooge one last look before walking out of the room, ducking under his elbow. "Were you really serious about getting me a spot at Waddle?"

"Of course I am!" The door clicked shut. Scrooge could hear them moving away. "I just tweeted it."

* * *

An hour or so later Scrooge managed to slip back to Lena, who was leaning on the back railing, a cup of cheap red punch in hand. Mark was blathering on and on about various things, shooting him a dark look as he approached.

"Well, it's gettin' late," he said awkwardly. "Best I get goin'. Lena, you too, lass. Inta' the boat."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Mark cried, waving his hands. "It's bad enough you're here! I'm not letting you have _punch_ , let alone my extra boat! You can swim home."

"Swim?" he asked, deadpan.

"You're a duck, aren't you? Swim!"

"You heard the man, McDuck," Lena cut in. "Best get swimming."

Scrooge's feathers fluffed up angrily as he grabbed her arm. "Now, yew listen ta' me, De Spell. I will not be spoken to in such a way."

Lena froze. Her eyes darted to Mark, who looked very interested all of a sudden.

"De Spell? That's the witch family, isn't it?" The parrot set a hand on her shoulder. "Well, then. I think we may be in business after all."

Something on her face made Scrooge's heart turn to stone as Lena tried to twist away. "I decline.

"It wasn't an offer," Mark said softly, fingers digging in. Something almost dreamlike had taken over his features. "A real De Spell... The people I con would never even remember me! I'd get away without even a single accusation message on my forums!"

Scrooge did what he felt was best and swung his cane down, clocking Mark across the noggin. He dropped like a bag of potatoes, groaning in pain. They were out and in the water by the time the Beagle Boys came to check on what happened.

* * *

The chill of dawn was beginning to crest the horizon as they bumped up against the amphitheater, its familiar stone structure haunting in the milky light. Lena hadn't spoken since their escape, her fingers trailing across the water. She glanced up when they hit, obediently climbing out.

"Well," Scrooge said. "This is certainly... thematically appropriate."

Lena took in a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling with it. "I'm not going back to the mansion."

"What?"

"You heard me." Her voice was flat. Defeated. She waved a single soaked wing around. "Every time I try to leave, it comes back for me. There's no escaping it. I can make as many nightlights and jokes as I want, but I'm screwed. This is where screws go. The toolbox of life, or whatever. I dunno. I suck at metaphors."

Scrooge reached out a hand, firm but gentle. "Yer coming home with me, Lena. The boys and Webby'll worry if ya' don't."

"That's all there is to it, huh?" she asked quietly. "Webby and the boys. You don't care. You never did. And Beakley only cares to prove a point. She wants to mold me into some perfect child she can brag about later. But that's not me. Never was."

"Lena-"

She whirled around, hurt and confused and accusing all at once. "You're all like Mark. Don't try to deny it. You don't want _me_. You want what I _could_ be. You want me to be some miracle rescue child you can tell the papers all about, or you want me because I'm a De Spell." She looked away, as if the mere thought of his face disgusted her. "Why do you think I even went? To be useful. I was gonna glide into Mark's good books and then into Waddle and get info and be _useful_... because that's the only way people ever want me around."

"Lena," Scrooge repeated. "I hate magic."

Lena balled her hands into fists.

"I hate magic more'n I hate bleeding." He rapped his cane on the stone. "It's too complicated, it rarely works in yer favor, and it usually jus' brings pain. I could care less if yew can bring back the dead- I want no part in it. Beakley hates pity. Always has. She has none to spare. Lotsa empathy and sympathy, but not a bit of pity, and she certainly don't pity yew, or see yew as a fixer-upper." Scrooge scoffed at the thought. "And the kids... why, the kidlets love ya'. Yer their weird, delinquent older sister."

Her brow pinched a bit. "You really think so?"

"Know so," Scrooge replied. "She made ya' a cake yesterday. Webby helped."

"What?"

"It's yer three month anniversary, lass."

Lena stared at him, floored. "That's a thing?"

"It is in this house. In _our_ house." He spared her a small smile. "And if this rundown stone stage is the toolbox, then the mansion is the ducking hardware store."

"Okay," she said, then repeated it for good measure, quieter this time. Her eyes were wet, but they both pretended it was from the boat ride. " _Okay_."

* * *

"It's a bit cold, but still plenty edible," Beakley promised as she handed out slices. It was vanilla, Lena's second favorite flavor after chocolate. "But make sure to eat your steak first."

"Hey, Webby?" Lena prompted, a wicked smile on her beak. "Dare ya' to eat my dinner covered in hot sauce."

"Lena," Beakley chided, then caught the look on her granddaughter's face. "Webby, _no_."

Webby pouted. "But it's a _dare_!"

"If Lena dared you to jump off a cliff, would you?"

"Oooh, cliff-diving! Sounds fun!"

Beakley shook her head. "What have I raised?"

Scrooge, flipping the page on his newspaper, found himself soothed by the sounds of his family loudly eating around him. It was far better than the silence he'd grown accustomed to.

 **Author's Note: So, I got, like, two hours less sleep than usual the day I wrote this, and I wrote this in a single day, the ending of which happened around midnight, so it should be interesting! My nighttime writing tends to hold up pretty well, though, so we're good.**

 **I've actually had an idea like this for a while now- Lena being part of the family, running off, Scrooge chasing after her and proving they're family, etc etc- but I couldn't think of a proper scenario until a couple days ago. Just today the concept of Lena performing at the party (rather than being a crasher) came into my head and I _had_ to write about this ridiculous child and her equally ridiculous outfit.**

 **-Mandaree1**

 **(Fun Fact: At "I hate magic more'n I hate bleeding", sleepy me actually wrote "I hate magic more'n I hate breathing" and honestly it was so epic I had to put a note about it somewhere)**


End file.
